One Of Those Stories
by shikuro
Summary: Rukia reflects upon how their story is not one of those stories. Though it should have been. IchiRuki.


******Disclaimer**: I do not own Bleach or any of its characters.

**Summary**: Rukia reflects upon how their story is not one of those stories. Though it should have been.

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Kuchiki Rukia had spent countless hours oddly but comfortably crouched in his closet, immersed in books she literally had to take a moment to hold close to her heart after having read the last word off of the last page. She never grew tired of those stories—the ones where the hero would save the day and get the girl; the ones that would end with a blatant or implied "happily ever after".

She could not help but think of them every now and then, even though time had passed, and they now made her more glum than delighted. It had been years since she had last been snug in that closet with a book in her hands, the scent of his fresh laundry cuddling her and the familiar sound of his pen dancing over the surface of paper as he did his homework comforting her.

She had caught her wandering mind wishing that her life had been more like the ones in the books one too many times. She had long ago figured that if her life had been so, she would probably have been a beautiful young lady, with flowing locks, entrancing eyes, a charming smile and a soul as pure as snow. Not a Shinigami, yielding the most beautiful ice-element Zanpakutou, who slays Hollows and liberates the dead from the Living World. Not a shorthaired girl with a dignified gaze and a smile that rarely sees the light of day.

In a life like the ones in those stories, she would have met the hero at a halcyon lake or a park in bloom; at a busy café or a rowdy party; by accident, by chance, by a twist of fate or perhaps just destiny's own intent. She would have stood out from everyone else, and he would have noticed her from afar. He would have smiled at her and she would have blushed. He would have had eyes for her only and she would have known. But their first encounter had involved her emerging out of nowhere to cut down a Hollow in front of him, bestowing upon him her proud gaze and proceeding in disappearing. Whether he could even see her, she had not known.

There would have been romance from the beginning, naturally, if her life had been like one of those stories. He would have courted her, asked her out, bought her flowers and cute bunny toys. He would have made her laugh, made her smile, made butterflies of all sizes flutter in her stomach. But in reality, there had been banter from the very beginning. He had kicked her in the head. He had questioned her and had not believed her answers. He had called her a "stupid brat", had made her blood boil, had made birds of all sorts fly around her head. And in the natural flow of things, brawls became a common occurrence between the two of them.

But had it been more like one of those stories, they would have fallen in love in no time at all. They would have fought over silly nothings and would have quickly made up afterwards. And the guy would have found his weakness in her eyes, and the way she would have made every shitty little thing about life seem like it was going to be okay in the end. But in truth, if they fell, it had been from the sky; and when they did, they had hit solid ground. When they had fought, they had fought battles to save lives; they had fought with Zanpakutous to take lives. And the guy had found his strength in her eyes, and the way she would make every shitty little thing he would do seem like it was the end of the world.

And wouldn't it have been nice to have her family absolutely love the guy, like in those stories? He could have spent every holiday with them, come home for dinner often and do things guys do with the male figures of her family. However, Nii-sama and him had not gotten off on the right foot, to say the least. Zanpakutous had clashed, blood had been spilled, egos had been bruised and true victory had been none's. But Rukia had not been too concerned about them. They had been more similar than anyone would have dared to admit in the way they both fought to protect that they felt needed protection.

Of course she had had competition. Competition in the form of beautiful and bewitching girls, like Inoue Orihime, Senna or Dokugamine Riruka. Whoever they had been, they had all thought he was so handsome, so strong and powerful, and so strangely alluring. There had been too many swooning girls to count, and though his popularity with the girls had been an annoyance to her, Rukia could not have blamed them. She knew how one glance from him could take you in and make you never want to rip your eyes away. It was like a spell. Something about him would snake into your soul, unnoticed, until it ate up your thoughts, your dreams and your common sense. They called it infatuation, but to Rukia, it had felt more like a disease. A sickness that would make her weak and drive her insane. No one could ever tell how he would "get them girls", as his friends would crudely put it. To this day, she was not quite sure herself what this strange hold he had had on girls was exactly.

Maybe it had been in his apathetic demeanour, his disinterested gaze and his permanent scowl. He would respect them, but would heed "them girls" no particular attention, which had made him seem unapproachable and impassive—in Girl World, this screamed "extremely irresistible", "_**must-have**_". They had all wanted to be _it_—the one who would make this impenetrable world of his spin. He had been a mystery waiting to be solved. A secret waiting to be divulged. A rare animal waiting to be tamed. A present waiting to be opened. A good-looking guy waiting to be snatched. Or maybe it had been about how once he'd let you into his life; you would become a part of him. A part so precious, he would feel the rest of him held little importance in comparison. Then again, perhaps it had been about how he would fight for those who could not. Because when he would fight to protect or save you, you could feel his passion and his will burn through your skin and flesh to touch your heart. But more than that, Rukia thought it had been his steel determination that had made him oh-so-fascinating. Because when he would set his heart on something, there'd be no deviating him, no distracting him. He had never said "yes" to mean "no". So you knew that when he would say something, it'd be a certainty and it'd be _his_ truth.

Somehow, she had always felt she would have been "the competition", had her life been a reflection of one of those stories. She would have been the one who watches the girl get the hero. The one who smiles and says she is fine, when her heart lays in pieces at her feet. So she had never stopped to notice how his features would soften whenever he would look at her. And when he would speak to her, she had never paid attention to any of the changes in his voice. And all those times she had touched his wounds, she had never seen the immediate tension in his muscles, the breath caught in his chest. Even when she had stood close to him, she had failed to see how his Adam's apple would tremble as he'd swallow hard. And she had never heard how he would speak of her to others; and she had never noted how he would only ever smile for her, at her. She had not noticed those little things that had given away his feelings for her, because she had never thought she could have been the girl in _his_ story.

And so, when he had told her he wanted to be with her, she had not believed him at first. And when he had insisted he needed her to be with him, she had found it so hard to breathe. And when he had said he just _had_ to have her, she had been terrified. Not because of how serious he had sounded, or how true his feelings had felt, or how close he had been standing to her, but because it suddenly dawned on her how much she longed for him as well. And if she had had to wake up from that, and he were to never have said those words to her, she would have lost her mind.

But it had been real and he had been real. And when he'd kiss her lips, their love became almost tangible. She had felt the need of it; the rawness of it; the truth of it. She had felt its edges, its imperfections, its expanse. Unlike the love in those stories, theirs had been more like a thunderous crescendo than a soothing coda. It had been intense, addictive, bordering the fringes of unhealthy. It had been not being able to keep their hands off each other when they had been alone. It had been dying a thousand little deaths until she could see him again. It would kill her, and he would bring her back to life. It would destroy her, and he would make her whole. It would smother her, and he would breathe air back into her lungs. And when he had grazed her skin with his fingers and his soft lips, his fire had thawed the ice inherent to her core. He had drowned her... and he had made her float. That was the kind of love they had had. The kind that needed no words; the kind where they had never had to say anything to know it was there.

Just like in those stories, he had taken care of her, had treated her like a queen. His Queen. But the more she thought about it now, the more she realised saying it had been just like in those stories was trivialising how he had treated her. He had done so much more than just "care" for her. He had loved her, consumed her, claimed her his—stubbornly, passionately, completely. He had bled protecting her. He had grown stronger for her. He had killed for her. He had saved her life and her soul constantly, willingly, lovingly. And he had made her feel alive in ways she suspected even the Living would have been envious of.

No.

She had no right to wish for her life to have been more like the ones in those stories.

But she did.

Oh, how she did.

For, if it had been more like the ones in those stories, the hero would have gone off to fight the great evil, he would have defeated said evil and would have returned to victoriously sweep the girl off her feet. And they would have lived happily ever after.

A hero, a protector, a damn fool... Kurosaki Ichigo had taken it upon himself to save the world and keep her safe. He had gone to fight the great evil because he had been the only one with enough power to overcome it. He defeated said evil.

And he never returned.

To Rukia, evil may as well have won when she had felt his reiatsu flicker and drop to almost nothing. Victory had meant nothing when she had found him, bloody and barely alive, but managing a smile at the sight of her. Her life had stopped making sense when he had whispered to her that he loved her—the first and only time he had said it in the years they had been together. But she had known, she had always known. _They'd never had to say it for it to be real._ And she had lost her mind when the amber of his eyes burnt out before she could say it back. But he had known, hadn't he? He had _had_ to have known that she loved him too. _They'd never had to say it for their love to exist._And although the world had been saved and she had been safe, Rukia's heart died with him that day.

She eventually grew tired of those stories, and wished she had never known about them to begin with. That way, she never would have filled her head with silly dreams and stupid hopes. That way, she never would have expected a "happily ever after" for themselves.

She eventually had to accept that _their_ story was not one of _those_ stories.

Because the hero saved the day, and he had the girl.

And she lived all alone, ever after.


End file.
